The ground was shaking outside a small house in Bellem one snowy winter evening, when Jennifer Randolph decided that Christmas parties had changed a little too much in the past decade.
“The neighbors are going to hate us,” she said to her daughter Elodie, stepping back inside the house to blasting holiday music. She put up more garland along the walls, going into the kitchen and helping Elodie take the cookies out of the oven. “It's just a Christmas party, not a high school rager.”
“Nonsense! Christmas parties have to be festive!” Elodie said, beaming. “If it's just playing faint Christmas music, will we really be celebrating Jesus?”
“We will be celebrating the fact that our eardrums are intact,” Ms. Randolph muttered, when America rushed in.
“The fireworks are doneeeee!” she sang as Ms. Randolph